


Effeuiller la Marguerite

by pettycoat



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Flower Motifs, Gift Fic, Parallels Fanworks Exchange, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 02:56:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20056894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettycoat/pseuds/pettycoat
Summary: A girl can dream, can't she?





	Effeuiller la Marguerite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icie/gifts).

> For the 2019 Parallels Fanworks Exchange. I had a great time writing this as always, and I hope my giftee enjoys it just as much.

6O doesn’t ask for a lot. Really. Honest! Maaaybe she gets a little too caught up in romances in the bunker, grinning over games of who’s kissed who and playing matchmaker for those who have yet to find that special someone. Maybe she _does_ spend a little too much time flipping through photos of trees and lakes and—_flowers_. But that’s always when she’s on a break, when 2B is taking a rest down there on the surface, and besides, she usually stays at her station the entire time, so it’s harmless, right? 6O likes to dream. Of sunlight and flowers and a girl to sweep her off her feet. If anyone else says it’s a waste of time, well, she sure feels sorry for _them_.

But it sure gets dull sometimes, stuck up here in the void. There’s not much to look at in all these neat, identical rooms, and she’s on strict orders _not_ to decorate her station again after that little _incident_. Sometimes she thinks of asking 2B to bring something up from the surface. Nothing big, she swears! Just—maybe a little daisy, a rose, a cluster of daffodils and dandelions with the slightest dusting of baby’s breath. A lunar tear. A girl’s gotta have some color in her life, you know? But she knows better. Contraband from the surface is strictly prohibited, and besides, it’s not like a cute little flower would survive long up here, having no water or dirt or sunlight. The poor thing would wither in hours. Ugh. Maybe she’ll braid her hair a little differently, when she has the time. Maybe she’ll wear some lipstick under her mask. Can’t hurt anything if nobody knows, right?

“Hey, uh, 2B?” 6O asks one day, tracing nervous patterns on her desk with the tip of her finger. “You remember that photo you sent me? That one of the Desert Rose?”

“Of course,” 2B says, prim, professional, though there’s a noticeable pause just before she speaks.

“Well, uh.” 6O fiddles with a loose seam in her uniform. “I love it. I really, really do! I look at it all the time, you know. Not when I’m working, promise! But it just makes me so happy every time I see it. I can’t tell you enough how sweet that was, and I know you didn’t have to go out of your way to get it, and it meant so much to me that you tried to cheer me up, and I know it’s—!”

“—You want more,” 2B says.

6O grins guiltily, even if 2B can’t see it. “Uh, kinda?”

There’s a long stretch of silence on the line. Then: “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Ah! Thank you so much, 2B! I’ll treasure every single one! And I’ll see if I can pull a few strings up here, maybe send down a few new swords? I can—”

“—That isn’t necessary.” 6O hears a door opening, its hinges old and creaking. Then there’s a clamor of voices. It sounds so cozy, down there in the resistance camp, so warm and _alive_. She wonders if they have animals there. She wonders if they have _flowers_. “Just focus on your work and keep the channel clear for emergencies.” Another pause. 6O hears a mechanical click, a sound from a Pod gathering visual data. “You being too distracted would affect mission efficiency.” And then she closes the line. 6O doesn’t mind, practically bouncing in her seat. She gets the notification immediately. A cluster of flowers, bursting up through the concrete in the center of the camp. She smiles for hours.

The next doesn’t come for a few more days, or whatever can pass for days, up here or down there. It appears just as abruptly, and it can’t be any more different from the last. The database says it’s called a cherry blossom. 6O is still in shock that not all flowers come from the ground, that some can grow on _trees_. More photos come and go. Violets and tulips and the graceful tumbles of wisteria. She keeps every one on the ceiling above her bed and watches the road take shape, tracing 2B’s travels from the desert to the ocean to a cityscape _bursting_ with nature. She makes the petals dance over the walls, falls asleep already dreaming. The projection, all technical, nothing tangible, is always gone by the time she wakes up.

“2B?” she asks later. “Do you have a favorite flower?”

“… What?” She and 9S are somewhere in the forest, stones and leaves crunching under their feet. They’ve cleared the area of machines. Otherwise, 6O wouldn’t be asking.

“Oh, you know, just one you like looking at. _Every_ girl has to have _one_.”

“I don’t see how my answer would have any meaningful impact on the mission.”

“Come on, 2B! We can talk about other things, now that you have some down time.”

Silence.

“Okay,” 6O says. “9S, what about you?”

“Huh?” 9S’s voice comes through tinny and slightly muffled. “You’re asking _me?_”

“Sure! Guys can like flowers, too!”

He stumbles over his words. “Uh, well…”

“You don’t have to answer her,” 2B says.

“Well sure I don’t _have _to, but…” He pauses. “Lilies, I guess.”

“Ooh, not what I was expecting! But I can totally see it. I think you’d look really good with one pinned to your coat! All fancy and _distinguished_.”

9S sputters something before 2B audibly sets back the volume. “Operator 6O,” she says, “is that all for the briefing?”

“Aw, 2B, at least answer my question.”

Another pause. She can hear the sounds of the forest ebbing and flowing around them. It sounds so gentle, so peaceful. “I’ll think about it. Terminating contact.”

Of course 6O can’t leave her there. She asks her the next time they make contact. And the next. And the next. Never angry, always teasing, and eventually, _finally_, 2B is the one to bring up the question first.

“Operator 6O to 2B.” 6O spins once in her chair, drawing a look from the Operator across from her. “Can you hear me?”

“Affirmative.” There’s the sound of water.

“Great!” 6O chirps. “Then it’s time for your regularly scheduled contact. How are things looking down there?”

“Quiet, for now. We’ve cleared a band of city-dwelling machines and are doubling back to the resistance camp.”

“Everything’s on schedule, then! Do you need any further instruction?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Call me if you need me. Operator 6O out.”

“6O,” 2B says. “You’re not going to ask me what my favorite flower is?”

6O sits up. “Well _now _I am. What is it? Is it spider lilies? Ooh, I bet it’s spider lilies.”

“No.”

“Aw. Well, what is it?”

2B goes so long without answering that for a moment 6O thinks they’ve lost connection. “I don’t know.”

6O wilts. “2B, that’s not really—”

“I don’t know because I can’t choose one.”

6O perks up once again. “Do you…?” She fiddles with her braid. “Do you like flowers that much, 2B?”

“No, not particularly.”

Back to wilting. “Oh.”

“I also can’t decide,” 2B says, noticeably more stilted, “because I don’t think anyone has ever asked me what I like before.”

Now 6O is hunched over her desk, pressing hard on her earpiece. “Really? No one?”

“Well,” 2B says, soft and distracted, “9S has, but that was before…” She chokes on her words, the sound as abrupt as her goodbye. “I will keep you updated as needed. Closing the channel.”

Click.

The words stick with 6O for hours. No one, not anyone. Except for her and 9S. 6O goes to bed wondering how someone could possibly be so traveled and yet so, so lonely. It gets boring here in the bunker, sometimes to the point that she just wants to tear her hair out and _scream_, but she can always count on finding someone to talk to, even if it has nothing to do with the war. There isn’t a minute that’s gone by that she wishes she could see the surface just _once_. But she isn’t alone. They’re _all_ locked up, up here.

And 2B’s down there, never talking, never resting, never stopping.

6O is so far caught in her own thoughts that she almost misses the alert from her headset. She scrambles to get it on, draping on her mask and pushing in her earpiece. 2B only ever calls her while she’s sleeping when she needs her _now_.

“2B?” she gasps into her mask. “2B, this is 6O, do you need assistance?”

“No,” 2B says, and she sounds completely calm. “I’m sorry for calling you while you’re off duty, but I think this will be the only time for a while that I can speak to you freely.” She waits. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” 6O says, stunned. She draws up her legs and folds them under her body, putting all her weight on her knees and her mattress. “No, not at all.”

“Good.” Silence. “It’s sunflowers.”

6O blinks. “Sunflowers?”

“Yes.”

6O folds her hand over her mouth, still not quite able to keep her smile to herself. Then she remembers where she is and smiles as much as she likes. “2B, that’s just so…”

“Not what you expected?”

“It’s not that. I just…” She feels like falling back and punching the air, so giddy she could just float off into space. “I’m really happy you told me.”

2B says nothing.

“Do you know _why_ it’s sunflowers?” 6O asks tentatively.

There’s a shift from 2B’s side, like she’s settling on her own bed. The resistance camp, at least, is a place she can feel safe. “I just like how they look.”

6O smiles wider. “That’s as good a reason as any.”

“Yes.” Another shift. “I heard that they’re supposed to turn with the sun, but that obviously…”

“Yeah,” 6O says, if only because she doesn’t know how to fill the air.

“… I suppose that’s all,” 2B says. “Terminating—”

“Wait.” 6O leans back to rest her head against the wall. “You never asked me what _my_ favorite flower was, you know.”

2B takes a while to answer. “Was I supposed to?”

“Obviously,” 6O says with a grin.

“Fine,” 2B says, but it has a lot less bite than usual. “6O, what is your favorite flower?”

“Weeeell~” 6O twirls a lock of hair around her finger, meaning to drag it out for fun, but then she thinks about it, and her smile falls. Then, she’s got it.

“2B, you remember that flower I talked to you about?” 6O tugs nervously at her hair. She’s so unused to having it down that for a moment she loses her question. “Back before you sent me that picture of the Desert Rose?”

“… The Lunar Tear?”

“Yes! It’s that one.”

“I see.”

Now 6O twists her hair in the opposite direction. “You wouldn’t have happened to have—seen any, have you?”

2B doesn’t answer. Not quickly, at least. “I’m sure I’ve seen a few around.”

6O perks up. “Oh. Then maybe—?”

“—Yes.” 2B clears her throat once 6O launches into a storm of squeals and _Thank yous_. “But it may be some time before I can send anything.”

“That’s all right, 2B! I know they’re really rare.”

“That’s not…” She trails off.

“It’s really sweet of you, 2B, to send me all those flowers. I’ve got all of them up on my ceiling, you know. Just so it’s the last thing I see before I go to bed. I just wish I could be down there with you. Maybe I could someday. We could look at all the flowers together, and I could finally see what you would look like with one in your hair! I know you’d look so pretty. But.” She puts her smile back on when she goes too deep into her thoughts. “Sorry. I’m just being silly.”

No answer.

“Well,” 6O says, “that’s all I wanted, 2B. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll stop picking on you.”

2B sighs. “6O.”

“That’s my name!”

Another sigh. “6O, are you going to be awake much longer?”

6O jerks. “Huh?”

“There’s something I found a while back. A place. It’s…” 2B shifts around awkwardly, the noise crisp in her ears. “No. I think it would be better if I showed you.”

“Showed me?”

“I’ll call you back in ten minutes.” And she’s off.

6O sits there blinking at her earpiece. She counts eight minutes before it lights up again. “… 2B?”

“Do you have the projection system operating in your room?” 2B is speaking unusually softly, like she doesn’t want to wake someone up.

“Uh.” 6O looks at the flowers floating gently over her head. She can make them as big or as small as she likes, but in the end they’re just still images, coasting aimlessly on a white void. “Yeah?”

“I’m sending you a live video feed from the Pod. Upload it to the system and tell me what you see.”

6O turns to the little computer terminal she has nestled beside her bed, hastily bringing up the projector interface and typing in a command. She connects them. The walls flicker and darken. And then.

And then.

“Can you see it?” 2B murmurs in her ear.

6O couldn’t answer if she tried. She can’t really do much of _anything_ other than stare. All around her, gracefully swaying and bursting with light, are Lunar Tears. Dozens. Hundreds. All turning and dancing in a sea of black. She can see stone walls and a distant tent, hear the grass settle with every other breath of the breeze. It’s underground. _She__’s_ underground. She’s sitting in the middle of a midnight field, and she’s never even seen the moon.

“6O.”

6O catches movement in the corner of her eye. She turns. 2B is standing there, or at least, her illusion is. She steps closer to 6O—no, the _Pod_—and comes to a stop not an arm’s length away. 6O knows it isn’t real. She’s sure she could reach out for 2B right now and just stub her fingers on her wall. But. She lifts her hand, stops, drops it and turns away. She won’t ruin this for herself. This is real. She’s down there. Sitting in the grass with 2B.

“Do you like it?” 2B asks, like she’s unsure.

And 6O bursts into tears.

All things considered, 2B could take it worse. A lot worse. 6O wouldn’t fault her if she broke contact and run off. But 2B stays right where she is, and even if she looks so uncomfortable she could just sink into the ground and disappear, she doesn’t say a word to 6O until she finally stops her sobs.

“_2B_,” 6O whines, “this is the _nicest_… I just… I don’t…”

“It’s fine.” But 2B still doesn’t look like she knows what to make of this. Neither say a word again until 6O is down to sniffles.

“Thank you, 2B. So, so much.”

2B looks away, even if she’s looking at no one. “I’m glad you like it.”

The silence stretches indefinitely between them. But for once, it’s isn’t uncomfortable.

6O looks down at the closest flower and tries to imagine what it would feel like under her fingers. It should be soft. So soft. And smooth. She tucks her hands under her thighs before she can get any bright ideas. Sitting here is enough. It’s enough for now.

“Well,” 2B says, “I really need to return to the camp.”

“Oh.” 6O wipes her eyes again. “Yeah.”

2B hesitantly tilts her head. “The Pod had been recording this the entire time. I can send you the file, if you want.”

6O sucks air through her teeth. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“All right.” 2B moves like she wants to say something else, but she keeps it brief. “Sleep well, 6O.”

6O smiles at the image of her, so close, so far. “Sweet dreams, 2B.”

The recording comes practically the instant the feed breaks. 6O wastes no time cutting it down and putting it on a loop. Soon she’s back in the cave again. And 2B is with her, and she looks so beautiful with the grass under her feet and the breeze in her hair. 6O smiles at her like she can see her and turns back to look out into the shadows.

She’d played a game once, back before that disastrous decision to ask that Operator out. Okay. Maybe she’d played it twice. Three times. Five times. Ten times, max. The humans used to play it, that game with the flower, and they’d pluck off its petals one by one until they’d been down to zero. And then they’d see, truly, if someone else had feelings for them.. _He loves me, he loves me not_. _He loves me, he loves me not_. 6O had tried playing the game before she’d talked to that other Operator. She’d just counted on the picture. It had told her no. But she’d thought it was just a fake flower and it didn’t really count, and it was just a stupid game anyway, and she really just had to work up the courage to ask her outright, and—

And.

Every Lunar Tear has five petals. Five petals. Five points. Five pulls. _She loves me, she loves me not_. _She loves me, she loves me not._

She loves me.

6O falls back into her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest and counting out the flowers one by one. She still sees them when she closes her eyes. She tries to imagine the breeze, painting waves in the grass. She tries to feel the coolness of the air and taste the pollen on her tongue. See the shadows dance on shadows. Smell the sweetness of the petals. And feel 2B’s hand on hers, the brush of her lips and the heat of her skin. Here, 2B can smile at her. Here, 6O can dream. She rolls onto her side and tries to find the rest, and the flowers sway softly around her, a distant whisper beyond the clicks and hums of the ever-turning bunker.


End file.
